Money, Life, Attitude

Shadow was a Vietnam vet who just came back from the war in the early 1970’s.  In Vietnam his was a highly decorated Green Beret. When he got back to his hometown in Indiana, Shadow was moving  in with his high school sweetheart.

After they got the last of her stuff moved into their apartment. She threw her arms around his neck and started crying. Shadow was frozen with fear like he had never felt before.

She proceed to cry. Then words came out of her trembling lips. She began to tell Shadow how she was so afraid loosing him. She would lay awake nights crying fearing that he was laying dead in some far off rice paddy.

When her fears subsided, Shadow said that he was going to get them some pizza and orange crush for dinner. Shadow walked out of the apartment, down the stairs. He got on his new Harley Davidson motorcycle and drove off.

It was two day later on the beach in just south of San Francisco, Shadow was staring at the  sun setting over the Pacific ocean. A tear rolled down his left cheek. He felt so alone.

Over the years Shadow looked for help at the VA, church groups, and in himself. He wanted to be home, but could not ever really connect. He wanted love, but when it came, he would run away from it.

Shadow tried several times with building a relationship. They did not last long. He finally died at 50. His body was found on that same beach. You see it was that beach staring off over the wide blue Pacific ocean was the only way Shadow could feel comfortable.

One of the most painful memories of my dad was watching his mother and father die, while he was a teenager. It was not at the same time. It was several years apart from the same horrible disease.
That same disease is almost unknown in the United States today.

What my grandparents died from was TB or Pulmonary Tuberculosis. In the 1930’s it was know as the “Great White Plague” or Consumption. It was a time before Antibiotics. Over 70% of those who contracted the disease died. Treatment and death was quite painful, both for the victim and the family members who looked on.

It was a time in my fathers life that he would not talk to any of his children. I remember seeing the pain in his eyes, at 60 standing over his mother’s grave in almost tears.

I only found out how my grandfather and grandmother from my dad’s cousins. It was with them that he lived, after they died. You see my dad was in his mid teens when had to endure such pain. Pain that I never had to go through. Pain I never knew about until I was in my 30’s at family reunion.

It was there one of my dad’s cousins and I was watching my dad and another cousin talk. She told me to store how this cousin of my dad took him under his wing, after my grand parents died.

She even told me how the family tried to keep my dad his brother and sister together. Each one could not stand looking at the other because when they saw their siblings all they saw was their parent’s dying a most painful death.

Maybe? Could it be us grandkids were affected? Could it be why we run from pain? Could it be a contributing factor in why we don’t see each other? Why we are not close at all?

Here it is almost 80 years later. The result of that painful memory still exists. It has defeated almost two full generations. Maybe it is time to turn that painful memory around.

I could not help but notice the back of his hand as he swiped his debt card in the machine, to pay for the groceries. Then I looked down at the back of my hand. The back of my hand was almost as old and wrinkled as the elderly gentleman who was in front of me buying his groceries.

Where have the years gone? I am only 55! I don’t feel 55. My biceps still bulge. I don’t have a big gut or any back problems.

Still the years have gone so quickly. All the abuse to my body and brain have left minimal scaring. It was all those around me who suffered. Many of those very same people who today will not talk to me.

Often I wish I could of have acted differently. Schooling, friends, and family I can not think of anyone who I have not any regrets in the way I treated them.

Maybe I should set out on a mission like Earl. Make a list of those I have wrong and proceed to make things right. It would take the rest of my few short years on this planet just to make that list.

Maybe I should just start treating people the way I want to be treated. Then for those who will not talk to me, I will pray for a day of reconciliation.

This past week my wife had to go to St Al’s (a local hospital) for a procedure where she had to stay overnight. We were both nervous with our worst fears as we walked in the front door of the hospital at 5 am Monday morning. 

As we walked into the main entrance, we felt that we had entered the 21st century of hospital care. The revolving from was spacious. The entrance had the front desktop to the left and a giant water fall to the right. Colors, shapes, and sounds (or lack of it) was designed to make you feel nothing more than comfort and ease. 

We walked down a short hall to the elevator where wall and pictures contained colors of browns, tans, along with soft greens. The room we waited in before going to the preop room had a gas fireplace. Beside the waiting area was two vending machines, opposite them was free coffee and ice water. 

In the pre-op room’s ceiling had alternating tiles portrayed an upward look from a pine forest and blue sky beyond. The clock, on the wall, lended to the whole feeling of warmth with its’ rich wood frame. The pre-op nurse, anesthesiologist, Chaplin, and doctor all spoke in soft caring tones. I could not think of anyone who would not feel relaxed and assured about being good hands before having surgery of any kind.  

Five hours later I meet my wife in her private room. The per op nurse was there, making sure my wife was comfortable. She turned to me periodically to reconfirm that the operation went well, and recover would be speedy. 

36 hours after walking into the hospital door, my wife was wheeled out in a wheel-chair, to our van. If my wife had gone through the same surgery, 15 years ago, she would of have stayed in the hospital for a week or more. 

48 hours later after my wife was home, we both felt that what was an scary, necessary experience, We felt that the whole process could not of have been done differently. It was a time of warmth and healing. 

When times get hard, we often withdraw and try to make it through hard times on our own. But it is the time we need to pull our friends and families closest to us. We only can make it through difficult times with help and support of those around us. 

Nothing says deep emotions more than a good country song. This is especially true when a particularly true when a country song is sung over and over again by different artist, over the years. 

I want to use this one song to drive home the point of view that we need each other to make it through hard times. I am not just writing about difficult times in our economy, or nation, or family, but also our personal life. 

Watch this video and listen to the words. Spend time with, and build relationship with those who are important to you.

Enough written words, watch the video.